


How to Love Lord Voldemort

by Lillyleaf101



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Animal Death, BDSM, Death, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mental Instability, Slavery, bodily scars, dub-con, non-con, poem fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3305180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyleaf101/pseuds/Lillyleaf101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Order lost and most were killed off, Harry was taken prisoner, raped and abused by death eaters and Voldemort until his mind broke, he then became a toy/pet for Lord Voldemort, his broken mind creating illusions of love to help him cope until his death.</p><p>Poem Fic.</p><p>COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Love Lord Voldemort

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Natasza Stark's 'how to love a god, part ii'

**i. don’t say his name. remember the dead birds. remember the red moon. it’s a bad idea.**

 

I used to say it freely, with abandon, but not in a long time had those words touched my lips. It was too painful to attempt when every ill spoken word would mean punishment.

Images of Hedwig's form, still and lifeless, would keep my lips sealed. Messenger owls more lost than able to make it to their destinations.

The vision of a sky blotted with smoke and the sun and moon that hung red in it's vastness as the residents of a country house burned alive.

No I could not speak it.

 

**ii. when you do try to say his name, only say it in the dark. alone. whisper it. this is sacred.**

 

It was times that I was alone, left in a cell or some place worse with no one to watch over me, that was when I would whisper it, I would try not to forget even though everything in my mind and heart screamed for the release of forgetting.

Every night, when I was sure no one would hear.

 

**iii. offer him plums. offer him roses. offer him blackcurrants and creamed honey and champagne and camphor and birch twigs bound by locks of braided hair. offer him blood.**

 

Dinner tables far too lush with food, but a stomach that could take none of it. If I was lucky I would get a chair.

In the garden I would find him gifts to appease him, it seemed only a logical thing to do, he did not seem to mind.

Night's spent almost feeling pampered as he fed me only the juiciest of fruits.

The most fun would come after, with a drink in his hand and blood on my own.

I did not complain, not in a long time.

 

**iv. wear your love. match your scarves to his eyes. fasten a necklace of teeth around your throat. pretend they’re his.**

 

It was once, long ago, I had thought of glamors, but no more, why not let them see? Let the world see. I am his art.

When it is cold he lets me wear my old scarf, what was the colour of lions and bravery now only reminds me of his eyes and the liquid he seems to bring forth from me so very often.

I wore a collar proudly in the hall, black with spikes that curved down like a snakes fangs, some stared, others pointed and questioned to those around them.

I payed no heed, for he had given it to me.

 

**v. if you make promises, keep them. he can find you if you hide. more than that, your heart will break if he doesn’t look.**

 

Sometimes options are given, but rarely ever choices.

I say what he wills, nothing less is expected.

He does not need to punish me when I fail.

Sometimes my mind is a silly thing, it thinks of running away, or to hide under the furniture or places one might not look,

but what if he doesn't?

 

**vi. devotion is always an act of beauty.**

 

Little heed can be payed to those who murmur when I do not walk, or when I must eat from the floor, for it is what he wants.

When my body is torn on a bed of silks and blood is leaking everywhere, yet he will stop and say those words, _'_

 _beautiful'_ ,

whether for me or the work of art he has created,

and I must believe them to be for me.

 

 

**vii. he has no cathedrals. no temples. no kingdoms, save what you clutch in your heart like a gargoyle. this is not a failing of his. it is a failing of the world. fix it.**

 

I don't always get out much, but sometimes he likes to take me with him.

I don't think much has changed, and yet everything has.

For the most part it seems he gets others to do the work and just makes sure they do what he wants.

Much like he treats me. I hope I am worth more to him than they.

The spikes around me neck give me comfort from the stares and looks that are all too often sharper.

 

**viii. show him your scars.**

 

For all the marks left on me by him there is still the one he favours most,

the first, the one that made me his.

I think I like it too.

 

**ix. no. show him. don’t cover yourself up. it’s useless.**

 

Clothes have long since been unnecessary for most of the year.

When laying in his space it is best to be bare,

To show him what he wants and let him touch my body as he wills,

To let him see my mind without conflict.

 

 

**x. you will weep over the lack of him. you will feel it like a stone in your belly. you will never feel more human.**

 

Sometimes I am left alone, he says he has business elsewhere and that he could not take me,

This draws forth a sadness that should not be part of me,

Doing anything is too difficult, eating, walking, bathing,

I await for him exactly where he left me,

And I realize I am still myself, even if so changed.

 

**xi. peel away your skin. bones. blood. muscle. meat. find him in all your crevices. whatever remains is just you.**

 

He is in me in every way I can imagine,

In the marks on my body,

The scars in my mind,

Every portion of my being reminds me of him,

Will I ever again be just me?

 

 

**xii. when you die, he will follow you. he may have killed you. you may have killed each other. this was never going to end well. you know this already.**

 

His largest goal was one he never did meet,

Even when I wished for him to do so,

The thing he overlooked, and that Dumbledore had no doubt counted on,

Was my life.

When it ended so did his, his ties to that earthly world,

And together we entered the unknown dark,

And I hope he wasn't unhappy.

 

 

**xiii. do not begrudge him his monstrosity.**

 

For all he has done,

To friends and family,

To body and mind,

And yet I still love him.

I truly must be broken.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if it's really bland, its just a sudden-inspiration thing when I read the poem and I haven't written anything in a while.
> 
>  
> 
> Tell me what you think and leave kudo's.


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